Falling Up & Tumbling Down
by cathasninelives
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou first entered -or more like came crashing into- Akaashi Keiji's life with a Hey Hey Hey! From that day on, loud-mouthed, strong-willed, boisterous, headstrong Bokuto-san with a pounding voice, golden eyes and a laugh like the sun -a sometimes irritating sun-, has held a strong place in Akaashi's world. Demisexual Akaashi. BOKUAKA AKABOKU
1. Yooshaaaaaaaa!

_A/N: This fic is many firsts for me: my first explicit story, first BokuAka fic and my first time writing in this fandom. Any feedback you have for me, particularly on characterisation, dynamic and/or the explicit parts or even just if you enjoyed it, is very much appreciated._

 _Thanks for reading and I hope you will enjoy~_

* * *

"Yooshaaaaaaaa!" The Great Horned Owl's thundering voice pounds the gymnasium walls following the ball's collision with the polished court floor. If the toss had been any lower, the point wouldn't have counted; not that this is a match anyway... Aaaand... -Not that that lessens the owl's inner self-cheerleader any.

Slim, well-lashed, grey-green pupils follow his captain to his landing. The golden eyed owl meets his gaze, and the love-struck setter feels something stick in his throat.

"Hey! Hey! Akaashi! Did'ja see that?!"

A stiff nod to his captain. Flat words. "I did, Bokuto-san."

"Hey hey hey! Toss me another!" Face wide with a grin, the third year does a half-victory-dance, half-pleading gesture, eyes shut tight with self-praise.

"Um, Bokuto-san." A twisting feeling builds in his gut as nervousness overcomes him though his plain outward demeanour remains for the most part the same. The air is thick; hard to swallow.

"Huuuh? What is it, Akaashi?" The level of perplexity in his voice, in his demeanour is of a level Akaashi could never comprehend; leaning forward, hands on his hips, one high-arched eyebrow raised far above the other, a pensive pooch to his lips.

At this point in the evening, they're the last ones left at practice, as they often are. Somehow, poor Akaashi Keiji gets wrangled into practicing with his captain some hours past when their teammates usually take their leave.

The flattest of expressions, as the setter flits slim, almond eyes to his ace's groin. Amidst the slick uniform fabric -lines and patches of yellow, white and black- lies a rather obvious growth.

Yes, again, Bokuto Kōtarō has an erection.

As the situation dawns on the young ace, hands reach his hair line, shouting aloud, though entirely to himself. "Ah! Shit! Not again!" His ever-boisterous voice pounds the gym despite them being its only two inhabitants.

How many times has it been now? Certainly too many to count. Though the actual number is 13. This is the 13th night this semester since they've started practising so heavily and extensively like this that his captain has developed an erection.

Long-lashed lids lower, olive-grey orbs following the ace's form to the locker room where the great horned owl will relieve himself. Before any of this ever happened, Akaashi had heard of such a thing; unintentional erections from extended bouts of physical activity or from things as simple as changes in temperature or humidity. However, it's one of those things you usually just hear about, right? No. Nothing's like that since having met Bokuto-san; loud-mouthed, strong-willed, boisterous, headstrong Bokuto-san with a pounding voice, golden eyes and a laugh like the sun; a sometimes irritating sun. Though his captain may prove irritating, he's grown on Akaashi; in a way for which there's no words to describe. At least, there's none in his vocabulary for doing so. It's not enough to say the ace makes his heart flutter, his gut churn with knots, or that his gaze is often painful to bear.

The slight warmth in his cheeks fades with time, standing amidst these empty, silent walls; he needs to go change uniform himself, but knows it's best he wait. His captain sometimes _... takes a while_. Too many times; no, actually, every time thus far, he's entered the room whilst the white owl's still at it; ending in a more than awkward situation for the olive-eyed setter.

His feelings for his idiot-genius senpai are difficult to describe. He's never really harbored anything of this sort for anyone else before. But Bokuto... was his first in many ways. The first person he's met to find it appropriate to send him weird texts in the middle of the night, to show up at his house on New Year's Eve without discussing plans prior, the first to assume Akaashi wants to eat whatever _he_ wants to eat so he always buys more than one of everything and then he usually just has to eat both of whatever it is. The first person to cause such _excitement_ in Keiji's life. Yes, every moment with Bokuto Kōtarō was exciting; his ups-and-downs, his passion for life, his naive self-indulgence and kind heart.

Oh, and of course, the first man to ejaculate in front of him. Not that that's really worth mentioning.

Warmth rushes to his cheeks as the moment's called to memory. In his opinion, the sensation lingers far too long.

* * *

The screech of the locker room door rasps his ear drums, further forcing his diaphragm to tighten. Olive eyes beneath stark raven lashes scan the room with caution; the low lit fluorescent bulbs reveal 3 sets of palely illuminated lockers, two slatted benches and the hall to the shower room but no captain; no Bokuto. For the first time, he's waited long enough for the great horned owl to complete his business. 14th time's the charm.

Heart still aflutter from the thought that's plagued his mind: the heated sensation to his senpai's cheekbones, his gasps and grunts, the sheer look of pleasure found in half-closed golden eyes beneath broken brow. His member; erect and reddened, firm and slick with pre-cum.

The young setter shakes it off, unzipping the bag in front of his locker, and removing his gym shoes. The uniform top, though removed from his form, brings no relief to his lungs, makes it no easier to breath, though much of the warmth tingeing the setter's cheeks has faded. Olive-grey eyes raise to the gap between the lockers before him, to find his captain in silent pleasured gasp, perched atop the bench on the other side of the alcove. Golden eyes refuse to shut amidst the pleasure so as to hold the setter's gaze. Akaashi fills with red; smooth cheekbones highlighted in rouge which he can feel rise from his diaphragm.

"B-Bokuto-san." Muttered words are brought to struggled lips. Backing from the gap, he makes quick work of the room, heading for the door, only to hear his captain call out in erotic agony for his underclassman.

"A-akaashi." Panting amidst the sticky sliding sound. "Don-don't go - Akaashi!"

The setter remembers the last time he walked in on Bokuto finishing his business and how post event, on the way home, despite his attempts to speak as little as possible, Bokuto had proceeded to ask him a plethora of questions regarding, basically, his kinks.

* * *

"How do you usually get it off?" Words spoken as if nothing were strange in such a question; one eyebrow raised above the other in genuine inquiry.

He'd felt the red burn his face in that moment; chest tight, widened almond eyes. He'd tried not to respond, to avoid the subject.

...

There's no avoiding Bokuto-san.

"Isn't it easier if someone watches you?"

The question about killed the poor boy. Gaze averted and thankful his face was masked thickly in scarf, he answered flatly, attempting to end the discussion. "I." A pause. "I don't know, Bokuto-san."

"It's hard for me if no one is."

This enflamed the young setter's cheeks further. He'd seen his captain ejaculate, twice. It was thanks to Akaashi that his partner had been able to get it off? The thought built a pale heat in his groin and sent his heart aflutter.

"No one's ever watched me, Bokuto-san." Though Keiji wouldn't describe himself as voyeuristic.

Luckily, they'd reached his house before any further awkward questions could pour from the idiot's lips.

That night, for the first time in a very long time, the young setter experienced the urge to masturbate.

* * *

The current situation feels like déjà vu, though it isn't exactly. His senpai's never requested he stay before, usually climaxing just as they lock gazes or just shortly after Akaashi's apologised, excused himself and exited in a hurry; though every time he feels his heart could burst.

The owl's request both terrifies and excites him, though he has no manner of explaining the latter. He knows this isn't normal, but nothing about Bokuto-san is normal; has ever been normal since the day he first met his rather quirky senpai.

A sick nervousness mixed with excitement drops to his gut, and when the owl calls again... inexplicably... he complies. His captain calls him over, almost pleadingly, and the pleasured, needing tone of his normally boisterous voice sends Akaashi's mind straight to the gutter, his heart to his stomach & a warm knot to his groin.

"It helps if you watch me."

The words brings a flickering sensation to his stomach. For the sole person who makes his heart flutter, his chest tighten, his groin need; to want his involvement in such an intimate process in too much to bear.

He can feel the cool, backless bench grip the skin of his thighs as he shakily straddles it from across his ace, slight shivers crawling his spine though he's uncomfortably warm at the moment. The lone moment long-lashed olive orbs wander to the scene before him is enough to make him want to run, though outwardly his discomfort only shows in the warmth of his face, his upturned thick brow line and the way his gaze so fleetingly avoids the peering golden eyes before him. His body fidgets lightly in discomfort and sparks fill his abdomen; his entire form quavers ever so slightly.

Seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feel like hours as the ace works at himself, olive-eyes averted all the while. The young setter's fidgeting worsens with time; ever-less capable of ignoring the grunting noises of his captain; the schlick of skin on skin, the huffing- and it grows even further difficult when the ace calls his name.

"A- a-" "Akaa-shii" "Akaaashi." Struggled, pleasured words amidst gaps of needed breaths and pale moans, all of which only brings the setter to fidget further in his straddled position before his exposed captain; his own chest bare, fingers fiddling, his mouth ever so slightly agape as his throat shuts tight, his cheeks warm with flush. He knows what Bokuto wants, what _he_ wants, what his captain needs though the idea is too uncomfortable to bear. Keiji's back arches further in his sexual nervousness, hesitation and frustration, lips, bushy brow and olive eyes hesitant as he finally connects their gazes, which he struggles to hold; long lashes fleeting.

The sight before him sends further sparks to his crotch, forces his body to contort slightly further, his hands to clench and his throat to seal off; the captain is spread before him in seated position, propped upright against the flat bench with one powerful arm, the other grasping his reddened member, his eyes pleading in pleasure and mouth agape as he huffs at his setter. The sliding motion of square digits over his erection slowly calls a bulge to Akaashi's gym shorts; trapped beneath confines of white, grey and yellow; louder and _louder_ with each passing second.

Akaashi longs to avert his gaze, struggles to break from the scene before him; not for lack of want, oh no, but out of some desperate cling to morals and politeness. Though he's sitting, each moment he endures seems to dig a deeper hole in his emotional stability and sense of awkwardness, as if he'd fall were he standing. Yes, he inexplicably enjoys being watched by his captain, called for by his captain, needed by his captain. He's never longed for sexual intimacy with men, nor really with women for that matter; truly, never with anyone. Not until Bokuto Kōtarō. But in this moment, and in so many moments recently, he's guiltily craved it. To hell with definitions.

He draws in a shallow, less than steady breath, almond eyes narrowing further as his brow breaks; green-grey irises only palely visible from between a net of heavy lashes. His form is stiff in a mix of desire and discomfort, feeling all too strongly now the call from deep in his groin; warm and pleading. Yes, his form is stiff; like his captain's cock, which is also sticky; slick with pre-cum. Bokuto's steady palm, working so fervently at his member nearly forces an incriminating sound from the young setter's mouth. There's an inexplicable air of control about his captain in the moment; despite being so exposed, despite his panting and broken gasps, he's steady and persistent. A thumb stops at his head, making swirling motions that leave guiding lines in his pre-cum whilst his fingers grasp and slide at his shaft from below, and Akaashi's mind slips precariously, wondering what those ridges must feel like, wondering if only _he_ grants his partner this sort of pleasure, if only _he,_ with his long-lashed olive gaze can help his captain to the brink. This almost isn't real; like one of those dreams where you realise you're dreaming; fictitious, artificial. But this time, he doesn't want to wake up. The fire in those golden eyes seems to flicker in unison with the sparks that ignite Akaashi's groin as his captain's fervor returns his hand to a sliding, jerking motion. An ombre orb winced with pleasure, the ace spills messily into his grasp.

"A-akaashi." As the liquid slides between square digits, dredging the wooden slats in streams of white.

He never once touched his ace, never once felt the branding heat of skin on skin, never said a word through his captain's performance, but his partner's called _his_ name. How does Bokuto not realise what he's done to the young setter?

Unstable need forces words to Keiji's lips. "B-Bokuto-san." Cheeks aflame and olive orbs glossed with pleasure, hands clenching in desire and discomfort at his sides, he finally averts his gaze from his captain- with his golden eyes; both hungry and pleased, lips agape in pale pant & a broken silver brow.

Akaashi's rarely ever experienced such urges, though there's no denying it now; his own cock pleads for freedom from amongst mesh nylon confines.

Half-choked words join Bokuto's pleasured grin. "Thanks, Akaashi. You really helped."

Damn this voyeuristic idiot. Damn his strangely sexy yet total turn-off hairstyle, oddly inspiring personality, powerful voice and weird knee-pad leggings. Damn his domineering golden eyes, goofy smirks and toned abdomen. Damn all the excitement he's forced into the young setter's life... in all its forms.


	2. Woooooooo!

"Woooooooo!" Arms folded behind his head, school bag in hand as the duo makes their way home post... 'practise'. Not that they didn't practise... it just, wasn't the _last_ thing they did.

"Thanks, Akaashi. You really helped!" The comment, though nonchalant to the captain, is like arrows to his young setter's heart, mind _and groin_.

"I didn't do anything, Bokuto-san." Flat words.

He's not lying; he really didn't do anything to his captain; didn't touch him nor speak to him nor-

"Yeah you did! I haven't come like that in forever."

Shocked and worn with worry, olive-grey eyes search the vicinity desperately; why the hell would anyone say that out loud?!

"...Bokuto-san... ... ...-"

"It'll be easier to fall asleep tonight, Akaashi."

And again; his mind's on a rollercoaster- headed straight for the gutter. To make matters worse, the idiot speaks again-

"It helps you too if someone else watches, huh?"

The poor boy about dies of embarrassment. Eyes averted and buried in furrowed brow, a tinge to his cheeks, an uncomfortable pout to his lip, the curl of his fluffy raven locks might just stand on end.

"I don't know what you mean, Bokuto-san."

One high-arched brow raised high above the other, lips pooched slightly, Bokuto closes the distance between them, leaning over the shorter boy's shoulder as for once, the great horned owl seems to recognise that what they're discussing -or really, what Bokuto is blindly insisting they talk about- shouldn't exactly be public knowledge. Not that his voice lowers any. Akaashi normally wouldn't be quite **_so_** stricken with the gesture, but considering the afternoon's events, he's having a hard time even remembering to breathe at the moment. The cool evening air lends visibility and further life to Bokuto's breath as it reaches his setter's ear; weaving through his silky locks, caressing his enflamed cheekbones despite his face being half-buried in scarf- Akaashi feels he could drown in it; in that voice, in that scent; so near his own. Oh, the way his captain's words rasp his ear and send fluffy, sickening shivers down his spine; his mind returns to prior events- only to have the earth beneath him feel as if it disappears with his partner's words.

"In the locker room. You got hard. Next time, I'll watch you, Akaashi. It'll help." There's a golden glint to the young ace's eyes, a slight smirk to his demeanour, though he means it entirely innocently.

And in this moment, his acute embarrassment makes him wish the world really would swallow him.

* * *

And that night, is the second time in a _very_ long time that Akaashi Keiji experiences the urge to service himself.


	3. 2:26 AM

"2:26 A.M."

Olive-grey eyes search the palely lit screen above him as he lay, form caressed by billows of blankets amidst an otherwise dark bed room. 2:26 A.M.. ... That's what it says. Despite Bokuto's comment earlier regarding sleeping well, the young setter's mind is far too stimulated to drift to slumber. Deft fingers open the messaging app on his phone, swiping down to Bokuto's name. The sparks in his stomach only grow more violent as olive-grey orbs reminisce; reprocessing past conversations. When not during school, the majority of their text messages were seemingly exchanged in the evening -or _very_ late evening at that- touching on topics varying from volleyball to the speed at which bats fly. His senpai is a strange one, to put it simply. One line in particular brings a pale curve to the setter's lips; features illuminated starkly from the shadows of the room with his face's contortion, brought on by the warm glow of the mobile grasped in his hands amidst a dark ceiling.

When he reaches as far back as the device will allow him to go, he's returned to reality, face contorting in upset, the warm glow speckling his cheek bones -palely visible in the darkness- the only element to let on his current love-stricken self-frustration due to his obsession with the loud-mouthed captain.

Sparkling olive eyes clench tight, turning his world black but in the split second he reopens them before his mobile screen surrounds him in shadow, his eyes glance over the last line of conversation they shared, forcing him to bury warm, reddened face in pillow.

 _'Night, Akaashi. See you tomorrow.'_


	4. Not That Anyone's Counting

It's been roughly three weeks since that fateful night when Akaashi was first half-persuaded/half-longingly agreed to watch Bokuto service himself. Well, actually 2 weeks 4 days and approximately 19 hours, but who's counting? And... they've shared roughly a half-dozen similar encounters since then. Though the last three times, as per Bokuto's persuasion and his own inability to simply make his erection disappear, Akaashi's nervously finished himself in front of his golden-eyed captain as well.

Again, not that anyone's counting.

And, it's now been 36 minutes and 14 seconds since he was led into Kōtarō's room and left there. 35 minutes and 28 seconds since he felt the plush folds of his captain's bed at his thighs as he took a seat. Yes, familiar as the Bokuto household may be to him, the young setter's grown a little restless. Though he's been to his senpai's house numerous times, despite his attempts to concentrate, his mind refuses to listen; ever wandering. He imagines his current mental state to be anything but healthy.

In his fleeting attempts at self-distraction, olive grey eyes glance about a somewhat clean room; subjective in this case as _clean_ for Bokuto is far from what Keiji deems clean, but that's aside the point. It's decorated as always; in posters of different celebrities of the volleyball world, one of a cute idol girl in a flouncy skirt Bokuto fell for as a first year, before Keiji knew him. The tick of the owl clock on the far wall. Akaashi would describe it as somewhat doofy in appearance; golden eyes that move back and forth with each passing second, beak open as if the cartoonish creature were shouting... and for a moment... he can hear the small bird calling his name. _Akaashi!_ It... kind of reminds him of Bokuto. The sliding door rolls open just as a stifled laugh breaks the underclassman's lips, brow broken in amusement, pink at his cheeks.

And there Bokuto stands. "Akaashi! Mom's-"

A less than stifled laugh as his partner says his name, in the same voice he'd just imagined from the cartoon owl on the far wall, with its ever-moving, piercing gaze.

Bokuto... is... slightly taken aback. The great white owl's eyes are wide with curiosity and excitement flutters in his chest until it paints his face in shining grin, though he finds the scene almost cute.

"Akaashi. What's so funny?"

A pause as he attempts to recompose himself. "Noth-" A pause. "Nothing, Bokuto-san."

Akaashi's forced from position as Bokuto's form joins him on the mattress, a pouty demeanour staining his previously grinning contours. "Come on! Tell me, Akaaaaaashi!"

Warmth fills his face at his senpai's proximity until it's all he can do but to hush the butterflies building in his stomach. "Nothing, Bokuto-san. What did your mother say?"

The captain's face spreads with bliss as his mind returns to prior thoughts and Keiji swears for just a moment, there's fucking sparkles amidst his senpai's golden eyes. "Aaaaah! Oh yeah! She's making yakiniku for dinner!"

The third year leans back on his arms on the bed, pure joy still painting his contours; eyes scrunched tight and legs lightly swinging against the wooden frame. "Meat. meat. meat." His voice is lower in volume but ever ripe with enthusiasm as he sing-songs to himself about what his dinner will be. The olive-eyed boy allows his gaze to linger on the curve of Bokuto's arms for a tad too long, startled back to reality by the tick of the owl clock -that's far too perfect a caricature of his senpai- on the far wall; feeling his ears tinge in warmth though his slim facial contours remain much the same.

"Ah. Bokuto-san. Did you turn in your graduation plans?"

Golden eyes shoot open and to the corner, the once-grin of his mouth a straight nervous line, ever built with worry.

"Bokuto-san."

The great horned owl further avoids the topic, pretending not to hear his underclassman.

"Coach has asked me about it three times now, since you seem to disappear whenever the idea occurs to him."

Further silence.

"But Akaashi! I can't help it!" Gold meets olive, set about a face that pleads _mercy._ "The advisor wouldn't accept that I'm going to play on the national team!"

"You have to write something realistic, Bokuto-san. Of course Sakurako-sensei isn't going to accept that as your plans." Words as flat as ever; unamused.

Suddenly, the ace owl looks broken. Oh, there it is. Yes. He shouldn't have said that. It was rude; slightly too directly rude for Bokuto-san.

"You have to write a back-up plan. Playing on the national team isn't guaranteed, Bokuto-san. They want you to choose a college or a field that you plan to go into."

"Aaaaagh." Keiji's jolted as the over-exaggerative captain flops back on the bed, grabbing at his dichromatic hairline.

Keiji almost regrets bringing it up. Clicking through the options in his mind, he settles on what he imagines to be the least destructive to their evening. "Just think on it, Bokuto-san."

And with that, the captain is suddenly more a puppy than an owl, plopping over on his side to look at Akaashi with the greatest of vigors.

* * *

"Akaashi-kun, thank you kindly for looking out for my son." Mrs. Bokuto, brow upturned in soft, grateful smile, bows her head lightly as the family -1 and yet, +1 enjoys their meal; Mr. Bokuto is working late this evening.

Normally, one would return the gesture by saying they've looked out for him in return, but there's no telling how far to Bokuto's head such a comment would go if Akaashi were to express so in front of his captain, and he's not certain it'd be entirely truthful either.

"Of course." A slight nod of a bow.

Though he _could_ technically comment on how much Bokuto's done for him in regards to understanding his own sexuality, he feels the topic's best avoided.

Lovingly prepared meal under way, for once, normally so boisterous Bokuto, with his raucous voice and eyes like the sun -a sometimes really annoying sun-, is... quiet. Yes, save for the blissful _MMM_ and _AAAH_ here and there amidst some intermittent smacking sounds from the young ace, he... is quiet. Golden eyes sparkle and lips curl as each additional bite of his mother's culinary magic hits his tongue, whilst small talk is exchanged and bellies are filled and if this weren't Akaashi's seventy-somethingth time at the Bokuto household, he would have been astounded with the mountain of thinly sliced beef atop the table at the start of the meal -far disproportionate to the small array of brightly coloured vegetables, which looked more like a side than a portion of the same dish- and experienced even further shock with the mere shreds of meat left at the end of it - mostly per his captain's doing; the blissful look on the young ace's face tells all too well how pleased he is with the experience.

* * *

Their evening goes as it usually does when Akaashi stays over; both completely unexpected _and_ familiar. They spend a decent chunk of time playing some idol-dating game, for which Akaashi constantly has to give Bokuto advice because he's not once been able to trigger the confession scene for his favourite girl; the situation only further brings Akaashi to recognise his impending doom: Bokuto will never understand. Also, Akaashi is nothing like this fictitious idol girl for whom his captain pines, much to his dismay.

Also much to his dread, the fact that the student council asked the Fukurodani Volleyball Club to run a food stand for the cultural festival and, Akaashi knows all too well that Bokuto + food doesn't exactly equal success. Though, reflecting on it, an actual performance event might have brought even greater suffering and headache to the setter; whether it be a song or choreographed dance, twirling in coordinated outfit whilst singing _I'll always be there_ or something of the like isn't exactly his thing. In their discussion that evening -which is only mayhaps the 20th regarding the topic-, they plan for the upcoming cultural festival, which primarily deals with Bokuto asking begging/whining to do things with the club that the club surely can't afford; a yakitori stand, beef skewers stand, amongst a slew of other things they could never possibly pull-off. Plus, they wouldn't sell a single one if Kōtarō were in charge; Keiji knows far too well from the golden sparks in the great horned owl's eyes -in addition to his intense craving for all foods meaty and delectable-, that he'd swoop in like a true bird of prey and eat every last skewer before they could pass them onto customers. He'll speak with Konoha-san. They'll need to do something less extravagant they can make in large batches and relatively cheaply if they are to actually accomplish any selling.

The evening is finished off binge-watching one of Kōtarō's new-found favourite drama series -as his tastes are ever-changing-; a story about some girl who really wants to attend a particular, well-known fictitious all boys high school to play tennis so ends up matriculating as male. Akaashi's not particularly amused by the series; unrealistic in its entirety, but then again, so is Bokuto-san. Following this, they discuss lengthily their most recent practise match with Nekoma, commenting on everyone's performance and future tactics and Kōtarō says a few cheesy yet powerful lines about playing volleyball, which actually bring a slight curve to Akaashi's lips. Bokuto's face is like that of an excited puppy -lit up enthusiastically, rouge staining his cheeks-, upon noting that pale smile, but before he has a chance to comment on it, Akaashi excuses himself to bathe; maybe _there_ , his heart can find refuge. He both craves and dreads such long personal periods with his captain; it's more than his heart can take.


End file.
